User blog:Lordkenyon/The Silver Talon Part 5: Centuries and Recollections
Previous “Does… does it bother you at all?” The fledgling could be such a timid girl, her quiet voice was almost lost beneath the cries of clashing steel. “You know, the uh-” “The being blind, is that what you keep trying to say?” Vivythra smiled at the subsequent mortified silence. She hoped that in time the girl would find her courage on a more regular basis. It would be a shame to see a brilliant mind wasted by timidity. “I had lived somewhere around a century when my sight left me. I had traveled the world by then. Walked the great Alik'r, sailed the Sea of Ghosts, gazed upon Falinesti back when the walking city still walked. Other altmer spend their youth coddled by privilege and swathed in arrogance, I spent it exploring the world.” “So... it doesn’t bother you?” The fledgling was an insightful child, timid or not. Vivyrtha had not truly answered the question, and the child had seen right through the grandiose response. She had potential to grow into quite a force, with the right guidance. “Not as much as it used to.” Vivyrtha said quietly. “When there is nothing left to see, sight doesn’t seem so important.” Yet she recalled when she had taken up residence in a crumbling old tower, ruling over a remote village deep in the Dragontail Mountains. Despite holding absolute power over a small population she had spent days at a time asleep, a state induced by countless alchemical concoctions. Vivyrtha saw when she dreamed back then, and sleep had been a refuge where the altmer could indulge in the fantasies she could never live again. She would still be dreaming, but centuries dulled all things, and now Vivyrtha’s nights were as blind as her days. The fledgling, of course, did not need to know any of this, and Vivyrtha’s answer would surely sate the child’s curiousity. “You haven’t asked who’s fighting.” The fledgling had chosen to change the subject, perhaps to breach a lengthy silence. Vivyrtha often lost track of time while reminiscing, drifting through a vast ocean of memory. “Why ask what I already know? The Warrior for certain, and unless any of the others have taken up a greatsword, your friend. Elianwen, isn’t it?” Vivyrtha knew she was right by the silence that followed. To those who could see, a perceptive blind woman seemed as magical as conjured flame. Perhaps even more so. “How do you know that they’re using greatswords?” Vivyrtha couldn’t help smiling again. That was not the response she was expecting, the fledgling was an insightful one indeed. “The Warrior has a unique sound to his movement. Only he wears full plate, and only uses that monstrous sword of his. Thus I know that at least one fighter is using a greatsword.” The fledgling sat in silence, considering the explanation. “And how do you know it's Elianwen, and that she’s using her greatsword?” “Vorth obviously is not here. Magrask would be grunting and snorting like a pig, as well as swearing incessantly. Hadro would be using his shield, and I would hear that. Dithrus is an archer and is far too levelheaded for this little practice fight. That leaves Elianwen.” “And the greatsword?” “Your friend is not strong enough to stop his might with a straight sword. She is fast, not strong. She can block his blows with her greatsword, though just barely. She must be using the greatsword.” “Thats impressive.” The fledgling had an honest tongue. The child was an adult by human standards, and could be by some elven ones. She should know how to cloak her tone, to leave only the words for her listeners to draw meaning from. “Less than you would think.” The two mages sat in silence for a time, and Vivyrtha listened to the harsh song of blades. The warm wind of the Ashlands caressed her face, and her hair drifted in floaty response. The louder, more forceful blows of the Warrior were becoming more common. Elianwen was losing ground, and would lose this fight. Vivyrtha stood, her robe rippling in the wind. It was made of overlapping layers of thin black silk, unbelievably smooth and soft. The cloth slid over her skin like a breeze, clinging to her flesh just enough to be felt. It had taken Vivyrtha years to find a tailor skilled enough to create what she needed, and secretive enough to keep quiet about it. That had been long ago, another life. The man must have died half a century ago, at the very least. “What in Oblivion are you attempting to do?” Vorth drew quite the attention when he spoke, especially for such a quiet man. The clashing of metal ceased. “Getting some practice for what’s coming.” The Warrior was a confident one. “You won’t in the future. I will not permit you to try to injure yourselves before we get to work.” Vorth was a force to be reckoned with. A foolish man would have tried to protest, but the Warrior was not a foolish man. He could not have evaded bounty hunters until they thought him dead if he was a fool. “Come.” Vorth called, doubtlessly gesturing to the spectators. “We have our first contract, and a job to do.” The journey to the cave was not pleasant for Vivyrtha. The fledgling’s questions had begun to unearth some of her more unpleasant memories. There was a time when all Vivyrtha would dream about was her blinding. She could still recall the last thing she ever saw, she could still remember squinting her eyes up in a futile and desperate attempt to protect them at the last moment. She could still feel the sharp pain, could still remember the horrified terror as she felt blood and fluid run down her face. She would never forget the taste when she opened her mouth to cry out. She used to wake up screaming, clawing at the gaping holes in her face. She remembered when she finally collapsed, sobbing, utterly broken by what had happened to her. Thankfully that had been lifetimes ago, and centuries dulled all things. All the same, Vivyrtha was glad when they reached the cave and the present became more important than the past. The cave’s mouth was wide, enough so that the Cammona Tong had apparently built a wooden ringwall to safeguard it. The wall and the prominence of the main entrance left the defenders complacent and careless, so much so that they left the back entrance with only a single guard. Vivyrtha and the Warrior were sent to breach that entrance, the others would tear down the flimsy fortification the Tong thought would keep them safe. The pair stood patiently over the guard’s corpse, awaiting Vorth’s signal. Vivyrtha felt the spreading pool of still-warm blood through her thin leather boots. She nudged the corpse away with her foot, redirecting the crimson rivulets in a direction that did not involve her shoes. “I’ve been thinking about something.” Something in the Warrior’s tone gave her pause. He was not a man for idle musings, this statement had some purpose to it. “And did you enjoy the experience?” Vivyrtha was well aware that beneath the mail and muscle, a cunning and dangerous mind lurked. But even cunning minds could fail to see the trap within an advantage. If he thought she underestimated him, then all the better. He ignored her needling question, perhaps emboldened. “You’ve made it clear that you’ve lived a long time. But you look far too young. You hint at things that happened eras ago. That sort of lifespan isn’t possible, not naturally.” Vivyrtha smiled innocently. “What exactly are you accusing me of?” “There aren’t exactly a lot of options when it comes to that sort of lifespan. I won’t pretend to know exactly what you are or exactly what you’ve done. But one or both of those is probably something horrific.” Every once in awhile someone figured out some minimum for her age, some number that barely scratched the surface. They always leveled accusations, always thought they had uncovered some ancient evil. They and their accusations were tiresome, and Vivyrtha had stopped trying to dissuade or correct them long ago. It was far easier to go on the attack. “A bit hypocritical that you would talk about horrific acts, don’t you think?” “I have no idea what you’re talking about, you will no-” “We both know exactly what I’m talking about. We both know many things, your name for example.” “Of course you know my name, we all know eacho-” Vivyrtha smiled as his speech halted, smiled as he sucked in a small breath. She imagined that his face was as pale as hers. She had mouthed the name, and that was all that was needed. “We both have secrets.” Vivyrtha asserted, her voice bloated with harsh promise, yet laden with kind reassurance. “If mine stay as such, so will yours.” The Warrior was silent, seized by the submissive muteness of defeat. Warm wind rippled across her face, a soft whisper almost made loud by the quiet. Then there was shouting, Vorth’s Voice thundering, a crash and sigh of splintering wood. The signal was, in essence, given. The two breached their entrance as ordered, putting aside their disagreement. When the cave had been stormed and its defenders lay strewn about in pools of red, Vorth chose to give a speech. “Friends, old and new.” The old man began. “Today we have taken our first step. Our reputation has begun to grow. Our number must do so with it, but that is not a subject for today. The path to gold, and if desired, glory, is started upon. We it together, many made one by our oaths. I may call myself leader, but there is no peak without a mountain beneath it. You are my foundations, and my foundations are strong beyond measure. This is not my success, it is your success, and our Silver Talon will only become sharper. You know why we are here. Scour the cave, find the objective. The sooner we bring it back the sooner we can climb the ladder. Get to work.” Vivyrtha had always liked Vorth’s speeches. They were part inspiring exaltation, part off-base ramble, and always reasonably short. Her thoughts drifted as she wandered through the cave. She was no use in searching, that particular skill had left with her sight. The scent of blood was thick, and it made her head swim, pulsing to the moans of the dying. She breathed deeply, and the sensation passed. One of the soon to be corpses whimpered nearby, perhaps right next to her. Vivyrtha was about to continue her walk when he spoke. “please… don’t leave me here.” His voice was thick with pain, and the scent in the air suggested that he had been injured in the gut. “mercy… please. take me prisoner… I won’t try to run. I don’t want to die. don’t leave me like this… please” Her raised palm numbed in a burst of cold. There was a moment of stillness, silent but for the soft crackling of melting ice. Then he sighed a shuddering final breath, a gasping proclamation of despair. Once, Vivyrtha would have felt pity. She would have regretted taking all he dreamed of being, all he would have been. She would have shed a tear over robbing him of the chance to say all the things he never could, to say that he cared to those who never thought he did. Once, but that was long ago, and centuries dulled all things. (Watch for a blog post on May 11 explaining some upcoming changes to the format I'll be using for The Silver Talon, as well as a bit of explaining as to what the hell is exactly going on anyways, and possibly a sort of episode breakdown type of thing. Feel free to share feedback in the comments section, I'd love to see how I could improve my work.) Category:Blog posts